Dinner had been good, he thought. They'd dropped off the laundry—Ariadne's things and a few shirts of his own—made their way to Pascal's, and had lamb shanks. Apparently the oncoming snow had kept most customers away, so the bistro was nearly empty.
They talked; Ariadne told him about sketching the cathedral at Laon, and collecting some layouts for future mazes. He watched her intently as she waved her hands, trying to convey the size of the cathedral, and the sight of them made him smile.
He told Ariadne about the latest job offers and about the letters from Yusuf, detailing a few new trends in sedatives including one that was geared for children.
"Kids?" Her concern was obvious and Arthur nodded slowly.
"Therapy, nothing more. Sometimes psychologists find going in and studying a patient's dreams to be helpful in diagnosis and treatment."
He watched her struggle for a second, a question in her eyes, so he nodded to encourage her. "Yeah?"
"May I ask . . . why . . . ?"
Arthur felt his body tense, but he forced himself to relax, and lowered his voice. "Because I wouldn't be a good father. Look, my parents were a pair of alcoholics who had to be forced by a court to turn me over to my grandparents and aunt. Yeah I was raised in a loving household from that point on, but I'm aware of what the responsibilities of kids mean, and right now I'm not in any sort of situation to take that on."
She stared at him, and Arthur was aware that her expression was . . . supportive. Ariadne slid a hand over to touch his, gently. "Good."
"Good?" It wasn't quite the response he expected, but then again, this was Ariadne, and nothing was predictable about her.
"Yes," she replied firmly. "I won't claim to be in the same boat, because despite all her bohemian ways, my mother did a good job with me, but I'm not interested in taking on anything as serious as kids. At least, not for a long, long time, if ever."
Arthur nodded, feeling the tightness in his chest relax a bit. These important points of commonality mattered, and although he'd suspected Ariadne had a view similar to his own, it was nice to hear it confirmed.
"I mean I like kids—Dom's anyway. But generally . . . I don't relate to them very well . . ." he trailed off, aware that Ariadne was on the verge of giggling. "What?"
"Nothing. Just thinking that I'd like to head back and warm my toes at your fireplace," she told him.
"Sure," he managed in a voice that was almost steady, "but you know, we don't have to . . ."
"I know," Ariadne agreed quietly, "let's just see how it goes."
It was precisely the right thing to say, and the little thrum of anticipation that had been purring through Arthur's subconscious for days now shifted to a higher gear, spurred by the optimism in Ariadne's smile.
He tipped the bistro waiter outrageously high and slid his non-injured arm around Ariadne guarding her from the heavy, fluffy snow flurries that whirled around them. The walk back to the DuMont was tricky as they both averted their faces from the blinding whiteness. Already the cars moving down the dark wet road had their headlights on, and the streetlights were casting a dim glow along the sidewalk.
"Doing okay?" he called to her; Ariadne's reassuring squeeze along his arm felt good, and in no time they were bustling through the lobby, shaking off the damp.
When they stepped into the elevator, Arthur felt Ariadne press closer, and look up at him. The snow had left a few flakes in her hair and they glittered. "We need to check your arm," she told him.
He was about to protest, but there was a gleam in her soft whisky-colored eyes that stopped him, a direct promise that despite her words, the process wouldn't be exactly medical.
Fumbling with the key, Arthur managed to unlock the door, and Ariadne scooted in around him, darting for the fireplace. She had pressed the button for the gas ignition and was adjusting the flames even before he'd gotten his overcoat hung up, and when Arthur moved over to the little living room, Ariadne had taken off her shoes peeled her socks off. Her small feet looked pale under the wet hem of her jeans, but she dropped herself gracefully on the rug and stretched her legs out, giving a blissful sigh.
Arthur looked down. "I take it medical attention can wait?"
"Just for a minute or two," came her contented murmur. "At least until some feeling comes back in my toes, please."
"Okay," he agreed, and sat down beside her with a small groan. She laughed and leaned against him, wigging her toes and examining them. "You know, growing up around the Mediterranean has left me pretty thin-skinned."
"You would have hated Oslo then," Arthur pointed out. Ariadne reached for the laces of one of his shoes and he arched a questioning eyebrow at her.
"Come on, your feet will thank you later," she promised.
"You didn't mention this bohemian streak before," he pretended to protest, tickled by the flirtatious tone of her voice. "And *my* feet are not particularly attractive, Ari. The kindest term is 'boney."
She ignored him and tugged, pulling both shoes and socks off before lightly running a hand over his feet. Arthur fought a flinch.
"Slightly hairy toes," Ariadne observed. "Sign of virility you know."
"According to-?" he demanded, staring at his feet, which were easily twice as big as hers.
"Oh lots of people—Pope Constantine, William the Conqueror, Claire Booth Luce," Ariadne replied. "It's pretty well documented."
Arthur snorted. "Yeah, I'd like specific citations. Fire does feel good though."
It did, and the crackle as snow drifted down the chimney was a cheery sound in the semi-darkness of the room.
"Arthur," she murmured, and he turned to look at her.
She was beautiful, sitting with her feet extended towards the flames, her hair still damp with melting snow. Arthur looked at Ariadne and the simple act of waiting for her next words made him keenly aware of how new and frightening this all was. Of how much he wanted her on every level he could have her.
Of how she'd been the braver one in this slow, sweet process.
"Yeah?"
"Let's go to bed."
Her words simply, sweetly turned his brain off. Arthur got to his bare feet, held out a hand and pulled her up, into his arms. He kissed Ariadne, the delicious shock of her mouth soft and welcoming under his, and when Ariadne's tongue teased his, he groaned.
He went slow.
Inside, Arthur wanted to rush, but forced his body to match the pace that Ariadne set, and so they kissed their way to the bed, and she sat at the foot, reaching for his vest buttons, looking up at him with eyes that gleamed in the firelight.
"Ari," he began, but she seemed to sense his trepidation, and tugged up one corner of her shirt to reveal her hip, and above it, a flesh-colored contraceptive patch. The sight of it both reassured and startled him, enough so that when she began to tug on his vest, he blinked.
"Arthur," she breathed, "I'm not good at reading minds. Is this too much? Too fast?"
He smiled. It was easy to reach down and cup her face, feeling her velvety skin against his palms as he bent to kiss her softly. "No," he replied against her mouth. "It's just right."
Arthur felt her dimples under his fingertips as she smiled back.
The leisurely joy of undressing each other was a foreplay new to him; Arthur particularly liked unwinding Ariadne's scarf and tugging it off to reveal her graceful neck. They took turns, one article of clothing at a time, and when he reached her shirt, he bit back a groan as he tugged it off of her. Ariadne's delicate frame was pale and muscled; her bra was a sweet wisp of a thing encasing the pert swell of her chest.
When she managed to get his own shirt off, it was time to stretch out on the bed because Arthur didn't think he'd be able to stay standing much longer. He loomed over her and climbed up on all fours, making Ariadne laugh as she scooted herself back and up along the mattress. The touch of her fingers over his bare chest sent hard shivers through him, good, urgent shivers.
"Pants," she whispered, and fumbled with his button and fly, giggling softly with embarrassment and desire, her hands pulling impatiently with the material. Arthur didn't care; he was too busy kissing the side of her neck, tasting the warm skin under his lips. She shuddered with pleasure even as she struggled with his slacks. "You're . . . distracting me!" came Ariadne's protest.
"Turnabout is damned fair play," Arthur reminded her in a mumble, nuzzling behind her ear.
She squirmed, managed to undo the zipper and slipped one hand in, cupping his erection through his boxers. "Ohhhkaaay, that's big."
"You say the nicest things," Arthur groaned again. "Come here—"
He rolled, pulling Ariadne to him, and they both began slipping out of the rest of their clothing, stopping periodically to kiss and caress. The first sight of Ariadne in the nude sent a hot, urgent jolt through Arthur, a primitive throb of desire that nearly threatened to overwhelm him. She was so damned beautiful, so perfect in size and design. He couldn't stop touching her, running his hands over her warm skin, admiring the curves and caressability of her body. It was as if now having gotten permission to touch, Arthur couldn't stop, didn't want to stop touching her.
Then Ariadne began touching back, and the feel of her hands moving over his own skin made his breathing erratic. She played with the patch of dark fur in the middle of his chest, traced the hard flat muscles down his stomach, then finally pushed him onto his back, and straddled him, her long hair spilling over her shoulders as she smiled down at him. "Hey there, Point Man."
No coherent reply was possible, not with the warm naked weight of Ariadne on his frame. His erection throbbed, bumping wetly against her and she chuckled, reaching down between their bodies and gripping it. "You know, I think we both need this," she muttered, and shifted, angling his shaft and lightly pressing herself down on it.
So hot, slick, tight-The growl that left Arthur's throat echoed in the room, joined by Ariadne's groan of delight, and their primitive delight mingled together in a sensual melody.
He thrust, trying to go slow, but it was impossible. Arthur wrapped his long arms around her, pulling her down, and Ariadne kissed him, small frantic moans slipping from her mouth to his as she rocked against him.
They slid into a quick, blistering rhythm, bodies synchronized in slick beats against each other. The pleasure pulsed and built with every stroke, and Arthur forced himself to slow down. The surge of his orgasm was rising, a throbbing urge that made his nipples ache, but he kept kissing Ariadne, rubbing his hands along her long waist and slender back as she moved with him.
"Ohhhhh," was all she gasped a few minutes later, as if surprised, and Arthur saw her eyes close, felt her body tense in quick pulses under his fingers and around his cock, squeezing tight. That was all it took. Long hot waves of pleasure rolled through the muscles of his stomach as he came hard, groaning with every plunge.
Ariadne slumped onto him, hair tumbling everywhere, and he tightened his arm around her waist to anchor her even as he slid into that blissful moment of post-orgasmic black-out. Every muscle throughout his body relaxed, and Arthur drifted, feeling absolute joy for the first time in many, many years.